


Apology Accepted

by crowleyphale (literarytrash)



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Bookshop Shenanigans, Cute, Fluff, M/M, Other, Shakespeare, apology
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-18
Updated: 2019-08-18
Packaged: 2020-09-06 11:55:33
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 943
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20291050
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/literarytrash/pseuds/crowleyphale
Summary: Crowley's a brat and Aziraphale gets mad, so Crowley finds a very cute way to apologize





	Apology Accepted

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first good omens fic! (probs one of of many if i'm being honest) This one was in response to a prompt I was sent;
> 
> “Can you write a gomens fic including something shakespeare related? I think it’d be cute if it had a quote from one of the plays in it or smth!”
> 
> So here it is! If anyone else has prompts they'd like to send me, feel free; I'd gladly appreciate it! 
> 
> Anyway, enjoy!

“…and so you see, _Othello_ wasn’t just a tragedy, it had quite a few powerful themes of manipulation and jealousy, to name a few, which-" 

"Angel, angel,” Crowley had tuned out early on into Aziraphale’s rambling, trying to enjoy himself on this fine afternoon without having to debate a boring old play. “I simply _do not care_." 

Aziraphale instantly looked hurt, and Crowley winced. He did this, every so often, snipping at Aziraphale in a much-too-harsh voice that caused his friend’s face to fall and Crowley to regret saying anything. "I didn’t mean it like that, ‘Zira-" 

Aziraphale wasn’t having it, closing the book in his lap and standing with a huff, his back now turned to Crowley as he re-shelved the book. Crowley suppressed an eye roll. "Aziraphale, you _know_-" 

"I know that you are _mean_,” the angel snapped, shoving the book onto the shelf and almost stomping his way to the front of the store. Crowley swung his legs off the couch with a groan, following in Aziraphale’s wake. “I’m not mean! I just didn’t know you liked depressing old thespian rants that much!”

Shooting him a dirty look, Aziraphale said nothing. Crowley hissed in frustration, opening his mouth to keep arguing when the bell above the door chimed, announcing a guest. Aziraphale smiled brightly at the young girl, greeting her in a cheery voice that only Crowley could tell was forced. After 6000 years, you know when your best friend is putting on a facade. 

When the girl was out of earshot, Crowley whispered, “you can’t be mad at me, angel, that’s just how-" 

"No. I’m mad at you, that’s that. Go away." 

Crowley winced at the ice in Aziraphale’s usually warm voice. "Angel, don’t-" 

"Can I help you find something?” Aziraphale’s tone was polite yet clipped, and Crowley hissed again, snapping the door of the shop open and leaving a gust of wind in his wake. 

_Stupid angel, shouldn’t make me feel so guilty for just joking, for hell’s sake. Can’t he take a joke?_

Despite Crowley’s aggravation, he still felt guilty, knowing he had to apologize and loathing the thought of it. He didn’t apologize–he’d apologized precisely twice in his existence, both to Aziraphale, no less–and he didn’t know how to, still. He slinked around the shops of Soho, bitterly replaying Aziraphale’s voice in his head. 

_You are mean._

He wasn’t mean. Was he? 

Maybe he was, but maybe on accident. Crowley was constantly angry, angry at the world, at heaven, at hell, but never at Aziraphale. He hadn’t _meant_ to come across as 'mean’; he really had simply been joking. But maybe saying he didn’t care about something Aziraphale so clearly did was mean in of itself. 

Crowley sighed, turning around and heading back towards the bookshop. He knew how he was going to apologize, it would just suck. But he figured it was worth it, if it meant Aziraphale would smile at him again. 

Aziraphale wasn’t at the bookshop when Crowley returned, which was fine with him. This would take a while anyways. Crowley waved the doors open again, despite them being locked to everyone else, and settled back into his sofa, _The Great Works of William Shakespeare_ in hand. _Othello_ was, _ugh_, three acts long, but Crowley read fast, having lived through the decade in which the play was written. He was familiar with the language, understanding most of it, and while he wasn’t _thrilled_ by this particular tragedy, it wasn’t the worst. He still didn’t favour gloomy Shakespeare, however. 

Crowley had just closed the book when he heard Aziraphale unlock the shop, and quickly stood, embarrassed to be here at all. He knew this was him giving in first, tail between his legs, but he also knew it was necessary. 

Aziraphale stopped when he caught sight of Crowley, who awkwardly waved a little, shifting around and wishing Aziraphale wasn’t so calm all the time. 

“Hi there." 

"What do you want now?” Aziraphale sighed, moving past Crowley and shelving a few novels he’d recently purchased. 

Crowley took a deep breath, hoping this worked. “'Men in rage strike those that wish them best’?”

Aziraphale froze. “Where did you hear that?" 

"I read it,” Crowley offered hesitantly, gesturing at the book when Aziraphale turned around. “I read _Othello_. I didn’t care for Iago, but he was a bit amusing. Desdemona deserved better.”

Aziraphale’s face was completely blank for a few moments, his whole body still, and Crowley held a breath he didn’t need as he waited for a reaction. 

Finally, a big grin spread across Aziraphale’s face, and he looked as if he wanted to hug Crowley. “You willingly read Shakespeare? For _me?_" 

Crowley rubbed a hand across the back of his neck, uncomfortable. "Well, yeah, obviously. I was mean, remember?" 

Shaking his head, Aziraphale stepped closer to Crowley, reaching a hand up and cupping the side of his best friend’s face. "You’re not mean, dear boy. Just a bit too aggressive sometimes.”

That elicited a snort from Crowley, whose thoughts were completely scattered by the cool presence of Aziraphale’s hand. “Uh huh. Aggressive, that’s me." 

Aziraphale smiled softly, stepping back and allowing air to enter Crowley’s lungs once more. As he turned back to his books, Crowley managed to stutter out, "So, apology accepted?" 

A smirk had replaced the soft grin on the angel’s face, and he asked, "You apologized?" 

Crowley stared at him, hard. "Angel, I’m doing all I can. Work with me here." 

A small chuckle bubbled from Aziraphale, and as he walked past, he gently patted Crowley’s cheek, no doubt feeling the heat that had gathered there.

"Apology accepted, my dear."


End file.
